


just close your eyes and dream about it

by itiswhatitisbutterfly



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, First Meetings, Fluff, Grinding, Harry in Panties, M/M, Riding, Rimming, Shy Harry, Sub Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itiswhatitisbutterfly/pseuds/itiswhatitisbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry isn’t curled by the television drinking cocoa and with rainbow socks and fluffy slippers on. He isn’t waiting for Louis in sweatpants. He’s, well-</p>
<p>Harry sits perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, his legs tucked over each other delicately and one of his smooth covered feet sliding against the ankle of the other. It moves an inch against his skin. Tempting.</p>
<p>(Harry learns what he likes, pretty clothes and confidence. Louis learns he likes that too, just in a different way. Harry and Louis featuring a pretty purple skirt and a pair of pale silky stockings.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	just close your eyes and dream about it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idkspookystuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idkspookystuff/gifts).



> The prompt I picked from the two I was given was "Harry wearing a skirt and stockings for the first time." I also just wrote some extra fluffy stuff at the beginning using some of the tags that were tagged because I thought we needed a little more plot then just Harry wears a skirt and gets fucked (which, well that happens too) and a little bit of gender exploration because that is important.
> 
> Thank you so much for giving me something that I enjoyed writing and I had fun with, I really really hope that you enjoy it and it is what you wanted. 
> 
> (The title is from FKA Twigs - Two Weeks)

The first time Louis Tomlinson meets Harry Styles they are at a study group organised by a mutual friend in the general University library. Louis’ goes because he genuinely needs to steal Niall’s notes, Harry claims he went because he needed new friends. Through the hushed discussions of exam pressures and deadlines Louis notices a few particular things about the boy his friends had spoken so highly of. He is shy and wears a pale green colour painted onto his fingertips, and he is also stunningly beautiful. The latter being the most striking and attention grabbing. Niall didn’t tell him he was so pretty.

Louis doesn’t speak much to him other than allowing him to use a few sticky notes, Harry picks the pink ones over the yellow and tacks them onto pages of his paperback. Louis guesses he studies English Literature. He spends half an hour wondering about it. He figures to ask Niall later. But, that never comes.

Harry and his green owlish eyes, big hands and with a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein tucked under his elbow bump into Louis’ side as they rush to the exit doors and into the autumn air. “Wait, Louis-” Harry says, his gentle hand brushing against Louis’ denim jacket. He didn’t speak more than three words to him the whole day. He wondered if he even knew his name, turns out he pays more attention that he gave him credit. Or maybe every time Louis thought he caught him looking he was correct.

“Yes?” Louis says, turning and blocking the doors. Other students rush past them in a hurry for classes and toward the same deadlines that plague them. Their little bubble not disrupted by them.

Harry’s face seems pale, like every inch of his mind and body is telling him to bolt away. He clutches his book tighter. Louis’ doesn’t read much, he wonders if it is a good story and what Harry truly thinks of it. He wonders what secrets hide beneath him ready to be unlocked.

“Would you like to get lunch sometime?” Harry stutters out in a mumble. He has to tear his eyes away from the floor.

“I’d love to,” Louis replies without missing a beat. “Can I have your number?” he adds.

Harry lights up with a grin and nods along.

Louis thought he would have to make up an excuse to ask Niall more about this lovely boy, examine his Facebook indepthly and find out where he hangs out around campus so they could accidentally bump into each other in a bathroom. But this works just as well. Harry prints his mobile number on the back of one of the pink sticky post-its Louis gave him and presses it into his palm.

 

.

 

Three months later Louis might just have the most wonderful relationship and boyfriend in the world. After their third date Harry had admitted, sitting on Louis’ bed, that he had never had a proper relationship before. Louis had been relieved to admit neither had he, but he was very willing to try that adventure with him by his side. And he was very happy to call him his boyfriend after that. The new word sitting lovely against his tongue like sweet sticky honey.

“What did you order?” Harry asks when Louis sits down at the table he picked right in the corner by the window. He looks nice in the pale light, Louis thinks instantly.

He smirks as he sits, sliding next to him on the cushioned bench seat. “It’s a surprise.”

Harry giggles at that, his eyes crinkling and his cheeks glowing. When he stops, he waits for Louis to actually tell him the answer. But he isn’t in luck. “Wait, are you actually being serious?”

Louis smiles as he nods. He knows Harry will not admit it, but he loves a surprise (and he will most definitely be thrilled by a slice of plum cake when it arrives). Harry playfully tries to punch his shoulder but Louis is quick and grabs his hand in his own, wrapping and intertwining their fingers in a loop.

“I’ve got the worst boyfriend ever,” he grumbles, as Louis presses a kiss to his knuckles. He can be so dramatic. “He won’t even tell me if he ordered me a latte or a mocha.”

“Tough love,” Louis winks.

Harry gives up the game and kisses him briefly, nestled in their little world and hidden in their tiny corner of the coffee shop. Louis notes his lips taste like candy like always. He tells him just as much.

“You always taste so sweet.”

He thinks it might come from the tube of strawberry lip gloss Harry keeps in his back pocket.

It’s then that their food and drinks are placed on their table by a delightful waitress who looks at them knowingly. Harry takes his hand off Louis shoulder, and has to practically pull himself from where he had climbed into his lap. He is kind of glad the rest of the cafe is almost empty. His face lights up when he sees the plum cake he had been eyeing up last week right in front of his eyes.

“You remembered,” he says, exactly the way Louis had hoped he would. He grabs at his latte with the same joy, blowing gently to cool it down with magic in his eyes.

Louis is sort of in love.

They eat the cake and drink their drinks with minor interruptions. They put on their jackets and venture out into the cold after a while of wasting the afternoon away. That is the great thing about morning classes, you’ve got the rest of the day to not study.

Harry pulls Louis into a few stores to look at all sorts of things. They spend far too long searching for books in a second hand store, Harry running his fingers along the spines and furrowing his brows. He doesn’t find the one he is looking for but buys two others he hopes to enjoy. Louis is tempted by the different rings they have sitting under the glass counter. While Harry pays he admires them.

He doesn’t like them for himself, but fancies Harry would look pretty wearing another silver ring on his long fingers. He darts his eyes away before Harry takes his hand and leads them out the front door, his books in hand. They make their way into a big fancy clothing store and scan the rows of items, Harry tries to pick things out for Louis. Louis at first doesn’t notice, he is busy looking at sizing and prices, but eventually he goes where Harry points him.

Harry wanders around touching things but not really paying attention. Harry has focused his attention, while he thinks Louis’ isn’t noticing, at the other side of the store. His eyes dart over the beautiful and intricate pieces in the women’s section with a curious gaze. Louis’ instantly wonders how long this has gone on for and how long it has taken him to notice. He grabs one of the shirts he is looking at and steps over toward his boyfriend.

Harry holds his books close and when he notices Louis’ coming toward him he engrosses himself in what is right in front of him. Louis’ knows he loves pretty things, he wouldn’t be Harry if he didn’t. He knows he doesn’t care much for the rows of trousers in front of him here. He tries not to notice the faint hint of blush that creeps onto his cheeks.

Louis looks at the table of jeans and shirts Harry stands by. “Do you want to try some of these on?” Louis asks, pointing at them.

Harry cocks his head to the side, as if just noticing them, because he probably didn’t before. “Not really,” he says quietly, his hands failing to reach out to touch or feel. They don’t tempt him.

Louis comes a little closer to him, placing a hand on the small of his back. He tries to be as casual as possible when he asks, “Do you want to look over there?” with a tilt of his head in the direction Harry was gazing. He gives him a soft smile as if this can be the most casual thing in the entire world if he wants it to be. He can say no and Louis will forget about it, or he can say yes and it will be fine. Easy.

Harry looks a little worried before he says, just as sweet as ever, “Only if you come with me.”

Louis wonders why he doesn’t want to go over by himself, and he thinks for a second of how many times it has tempted Harry but he has been afraid. He would love nothing more than to stand beside him as Harry looks over pretty blouses, shirts, jumpers and jeans. “Of course,” Louis says as he takes his hand and they leave the mens section together.

Louis stands next to Harry as he carefully eyes up the different racks of jeans. He tries his best to be supportive and state his opinion when needed, Harry laughs at his terrible advice and screws his nose up. Harry picks up a black pair and a grey pair, and a few different fuzzy jumpers that are soft when Louis’ brushes a hand over them. They venture into the changing rooms together, Harry tucked into Louis’ side with a bright smile. Louis is prepared to give the changing room attendant an earful if he comments anything less than one hundred percent encouraging to Harry, thankfully they don’t bat an eyelid and they happily go by.

Harry buys a pair of the skin tight jeans and maroon jumper that is a little big and very fluffy, but the softest touch Louis has ever felt. Louis himself grabs a couple of t-shirts and Harry approves.

 

.

 

On Friday, after Louis has sat through (and survived) a deadly day of law lectures, he meets Harry by the backdoor of the library so he can walk him back to his flat. He bolts out the door of his last class as fast as possible and speed walks up the hill. It’s just, he didn’t get to see him yesterday or the day before. He is always the best part of his day. His favourite piece of sunshine.

He spots Harry in the crowds, leant against the brick wall and waiting. He looks like the embodiment of winter joy. He wears the jeans he bought with Louis the other week, as well as a lavender cable knit jumper and a white beanie, pulled over his ears, with a large bobble on the top. His long hair peeking out in all different spots. Those are most definitely new and very pretty. As Louis approaches, he notes how Harry stands just a little taller and prouder.

“Hello, pom pom head,” Louis greets with a surprise, swooping in and kissing his cheek. He moves his hand to swat at his hat and Harry laughs with a shocked look on his face. He almost drops his books.

“It’s new,” he replies, with a little shake of his head to make it bounce up and down. It bobbles around.

“I like it. It’s very pretty. But let’s get a move on, I’m hungry. I hope you’re making dinner,” Louis laughs as he watches him, and takes his hand. He tugs him as fast as he can, because it is cold and getting dark. Harry’s flat awaits with warm blankets and Friends reruns.

The smile doesn’t leave his face as they wander down paths, alleys and street corners toward Harry’s place. Nothing makes him feel this way like when Harry is happy, and when he does it by being his truly wonderful self. Harry babbles on about picking his jumper up at an vintage store with Zayn, and the wonders of Oscar Wilde. He doesn’t really care for second hand stores or dead writers but he likes Harry, and that explains why it sounds like the best thing he has heard all day.

Harry doesn’t have much in the fridge, so he ends up making them canned tomato soup for dinner. He blames Zayn for not reminding him to ration that weeks food better. He works at the tattoo parlour down the road and is the reason their flat always smells like paint. Louis still likes Harry’s place best nonetheless.

While Harry hums around the kitchen and cooks to their favourite songs on their Friday Night playlist, Louis dumps his bags into his bedroom, because he’ll probably end up staying the night. He checks his hair in the bathroom. He looks alright, and it will have to do. He notices that next to Harry’s bottle of sparkly silver nailpolish are a few new additions in the form of some colourful hair ties and a few flowery clips. Louis runs his finger over them gently, fond of the idea that Harry was confident enough to purchase them without him. He goes back into the kitchen with a smile on his face.

 

.

 

Louis tries not to bring it up. He just stands back and watches him glow, reminding him everyday of how wonderful and beautiful he is at every chance he gets. He remembers the look of hesitation on his face in the store that day and makes it his goal to never see it again. But then, Louis also realises Harry knows Harry best.

So when Harry shows him new pretty things he makes sure to always show his interest. If he comes to a date wearing a new pair of striped jeans, he compliments him until he blushes. And when he puts on a pair of brightly coloured floral socks before bed, he kisses his feet until he can’t breathe from all the giggles escaping his lungs.

When Harry brings it up he realises then, that he is a lot better at this than Louis gave him credit for. Or at least, he is a lot smarter than Louis.“I just like what I like,” Harry smiles. “This makes me happy. And I like being happy. I was scared before, now I feel free. Confident even.”

He does see that. When he met Harry, he was wearing a lovely outfit but nothing like what he displays affections for now. He also tugged the sleeves over his hands and hid behind himself, and in on himself. Now he seems to different in the best possible way.

Louis kisses him into the sofa until Zayn tells them to be quiet because he can hear them from all the way in the other room. Louis can’t help it.

 

.

 

Harry and Louis spend half an hour giggling in a corner of the library, being continually sushed by the people around them, before they give up and abandon their studies on a Monday afternoon. They eat sushi in a park and Louis doesn’t think of the paper he has due tomorrow. Harry is a terrible influence. He puts Louis’ heart in his brain and throws all reasonable logic out the window. He also can’t use chopsticks very well. Louis loves him.

Harry tugs Louis’ into a tiny boutique down an idle lane. They have trinkets and hats, all things pretty and beautiful. He watches Harry fish around the clothes, his fingers just brushing the edges of garments and garnering a feel. He sparkles just a little with pleasure. He probably doesn’t think Louis is watching when he lays a hand over a cotton skirt, ruffled and flared with delicate petiteness. Louis himself tries to avert his eyes, they drift occasionally as he floats around the counter filled with watches and necklaces. He darts his eyes to the left, he sees Harry grabbing a lavender pleated garment.

Louis heats as he imagines the scene playing out in his head, Harry thighs draped with the material, soft and supple, delicate and tender. He pictures his smiles. He hears his breathless hitch of air as Louis’ hands wander, and wander, beneath the purple and into the unknown. Harry’s voice, right here in reality, shocks him out of it.

“I’ll just try these quick, promise. Just wait here a minute,” he says with a wave of a hand, careless and distracted. He knows nothing of the torment that Louis wages a war against in his mind.

He feels covered in guilt. It makes him feel cold in a quick flush.

Harry isn’t doing this for him, it isn’t his to take or create into some fantasy. He frowns at himself and goes back to looking at other things and distracting his mind. He rests in turmoil of guilt until Harry comes out again, smiling, happy and unaware of Louis’ selfishness.

 

.

 

He can’t stop thinking of it. He knows he purchased it, he saw him push it across the counter and the storekeeper fold it into a bag. It is etched into his mind, plaguing him in sleep and in daylight hours. He wonders if Harry notices, he has to. It is so obvious.

Harry tells Louis to come over. But not until he has finished working on his assignment. Louis totally messes up the conclusion on his essay in his rush to get it done. He probably won’t regret it. He darts to Harry’s as quick as possible, grabbing his skateboard and thinking of ideas of what they could do this weekend with all their free time. Most of these include no clothes, not leaving bed and not waking until the sun is high in the sky.

He has a key so charges up as fast as he can, taking the steps two at a time. Louis’ unlocks the door whistling to himself a tune that resembles a familiar melody he had picked up on the radio. He is casual, happy and content. He tries not to think of the things that keep him up at night.

“Hello,” he sing songs as he pushes the door open and drops his skateboard on the floor in its normal spot. It hits the wood with a thud and Louis’ eyes glance around the room. It’s clean and sparkly like normal, with that faint smell of drying paint. His heart mimics the skateboard and the echoing noise it makes when he spots him. Louis’ eyes drag over the small kitchen and his heart stutters in his throat.

Harry isn’t curled by the television drinking cocoa and with rainbow socks and fluffy slippers on. He isn’t waiting for Louis in sweatpants. He’s, well-

Harry sits perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, his legs tucked over each other delicately and one of his smooth covered feet sliding against the ankle of the other. It moves an inch against his skin. Tempting. They are draped in tight pale pink material that can only belong to a pair of smooth, silky stockings. They hug every curve, including the straight lines of his calfs that extend fully against the light wooden cupboards of the kitchen. He looks dainty, soft and elegant. And the way his foot drags against the curve of his ankle tempts Louis, and tells him Harry knows the exact emotion and feeling he is producing. Harry’s toes curl and he flickers his eyes up and catches his glances across the divide like he is noticing him for the first time.

He radiates confidence and appeal, just from the slightest movement. The purple skirt he wears, delicately folded and so every pleat sits right, fits snugly around his waist like it was made for him. It folds against his hips, curves and lines. The colour, Harry’s favourite, turns his skin milky and supple.

He looks perfect. He looks like every inch of Harry that Louis loves, just dressed up for show the exact way he adores. If Louis knows anything, or has learnt anything from Harry over the last few weeks, it’s that right now, he must be feeling more confident and flawless than ever. He bats his eyelashes at him’ from across the room, Louis still motionless, and cocks a little smile on his bubblegum lips. Louis is so glad he shut the door behind him. He stands frozen.

“Louis,” he says, dripping a mix of innocence and bravado. He reaches out his hands toward him, spread fingers to beckon him forward into his lap and probably between his legs.

He’s wearing a tight white cropped top, a pleated skirt and a pair of pale stockings that disappear under the floaty material. His mouth looks like candy. He looks like a dream. And Louis’ wants to devour every inch of him. Every word on Louis’ tongue is swallowed up as his mind thumps a rhythm of lust and desire. But in the same he feels guilty, the same feeling he felt in that store watching Harry consume his heart's desires. Like he loves this all too much, wants to use it for his own pleasure too much. He loves him too much.

“I did this for you,” Harry says, with a little smile. Louis tries to wake his brain from its lust blackout. “Well, I did it for me,” he says again, cheeky smile and wide eyes, “but I knew you would love it. And I’d love that you love it-”

Louis stops his little, adorable ramble. “I do. Love it.” His mouth is dry.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Harry adds, pouty and honest. “Thank you for being supportive, thank you for giving me that little bit of courage I needed. You’ve earnt it.”

Louis nods, as he takes another slow step toward him and the kitchen. He can finally move. He asks an unspoken question of whether or not he can touch, break the distance and give into temptation. Harry silently lets him in, batting his lashes and smiling sweetly.

Louis thinks Harry gets it, he probably likes this just as much as Louis himself does. It makes them both happy. Louis loves him like this, it is indescribable how breathtakingly hot he looks and it turns him on more than anything else before. Harry loves the attention, he likes this, and he loves being the one to have this effect on Louis.  

“This is your reward,” Harry almost whispers as the distance between them becomes just simple meters. He bats his eyes again, smooths over his skirt, his feet still tracking against the pink panes or the wooden cupboards, and says, “Come and collect it.”

Louis can’t move fast enough, hungry with desire fueling him, to reach across the room and capture exactly what Harry is offering him up. It takes less than a few seconds for Harry to go from a distant mirage, to right there within his reach. He is even better up close, sitting pretty and waiting idly, with beautiful candy lips and a coy look.

Louis wastes no time getting hands on him as quickly as he can manage, the first thing he does when he is close enough to touch is place a tender hand on his waist. The tiny bit of skin where the purple band of his skirt fails to meet the white cotton of his shirt connects with Louis’ palm. Harry practically shivers as Louis tugs him toward him by the waist in a smooth motion, his hands reaching out to lay flat against his chest and his body leaning down from his spot perched high on the counters to connect their lips.

Like Louis suspected, Harry’s lips taste like cherries as he tugs his bottom lip into his mouth and pulls a moan out of him. The kiss is electric and frantic, Louis’ other hand palming at Harry’s knee, stroking the silky material and gently parting his legs so he can stand between them, and pull him to the edge of the kitchen bench. Harry falls into his control easily. They break the kiss after a moment, still breathless and wanting, and Louis whispers, deep against the shell of his ear, “Are you showing off?”

His hot breath coils around Harry’s ear and he moans in reply, nodding his head up and down quickly. His eyes flutter closed and he whimpers softly, “Yeah. I am.”

“Do you like it?” Harry asks after a moment of Louis kissing his cheeks, neck and slowly working a path against his legs and hips, devouring and etching the feeling into his memory. Harry sways against his touch and moulds himself against him. He goes with the motions and the flow, pulling with Louis’ currents and tides.

“I love it, I love you,” Louis replies instantly, not missing a beat. Harry believes every word of it, Louis speaks the truth. He pulls him back into a kiss, Harry’s hand reaching up to cup at his neck and pull him in through fingers threaded in hair. He holds him and tries to not let go. Louis wouldn’t leave even if he wanted to.

It is a kiss like they have never kissed before. They normally savour them, eat them up and express feelings of pure sweet love. The untouchable kind, the unconditional feelings nestled in their hearts. This is eros. It is passion, desire and the love that wants and takes. The selfish kind. The kind that means Harry pulling at Louis’ hair, red bitten lips and tongues that clash together. The kisses that hurt a little and burn like fire, in the most rewarding way.

“God, you’re so hot,” Louis says, each word punctuated by laboured breaths and giving into the desire to consume him again and again. He says it like Harry knows it, which with the look he gives him in reply, it is probably the truth. He tugs him closer, Harry letting out a little squeak as he almost falls off the counter into his arms. He wraps his legs, that hang loosely now, up and around Louis’ waist, joining them together. Louis’ can feel the silky smooth feeling of his stockings up against his back and waist or through his t-shirt and from where his forearms brush against them.

It is so Harry, soft and delicate with an edge of naughty and needy. Louis’ hands wander from his hips and back to venture against the expanse of his thighs. From pulling his legs up and wrapping them around Louis, his skirt has fluttered open and wide. It no longer sits pretty and neat. All those thoughts that Louis’ had fill his mind again. He had pictured this very moment and now he has been gifted it, and it almost feels like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

Harry presses their chests together and pulls away from a deep kiss to look at Louis closely. He takes a palm and brushes it against his jaw, rubbing his soft flesh against the slightly rough edge of his facial hair that has been burning against his cheeks. Louis can feel him eating him up, consuming the state of his eyes, lips and features. “Hi,” Harry whispers, “You’re hot. My hot boyfriend.”

“Speak for yourself,” Louis shoots back quickly. They both sound dry and hungry for breath with heaving lungs. Harry hums a little sound from the back of his throat in contentment and arches an eyebrow prettily. Louis’ wants to consume every part of him.

“You can like it. It’s okay. I like it,” Harry murmurs, leaning in again so his breath hits Louis’ lips with every syllable. Louis swears he is cotton candy.

“I do,” Louis replies, their lips so close they brush, tempting a barely there kiss. “I like your legs in these stockings. They look edible. I like how much I know you like this skirt,” he recounts, hands slowly exploring as he speaks. With every word they creep, fingertips tracing tracks of intimate pleasure. Harry’s eyes drop closed and his forehead presses against Louis’ own. His bright bitten lips getting tugged between his own teeth.

“I love the way it makes you look. So pretty. Soft and sweet.”

Harry interrupts him. “Do you like what’s underneath?” He leans back a little and gives him a small smile, edging him onto to test the waters. Louis removes his hands from his waist and hair to tickle the edges of the fabric where it has crumpled and floated around the tops of Harry’s thighs. Ever so slowly he tracks it with the tips of his fingers, sliding against the soft stockings and pushing the cotton fabric so his digits disappear. The stockings come to an end and Louis finds nothing but supple soft skin and eventually the small string of an elastic garter holding them up. Harry shudders and skips a heartbeat as each of Louis’ hands placed on his two seperate thighs spread them wide.

They make eye contact for a quick second, the air electric and time standing still. He pushes just a little further, trailing against Harry’s untouched skin, until he meets the soft lacy feeling of his undergarments where the stockings and their holders are hooked. He was hoping for that, but never in his wildest dreams did he let himself believe it would happen. His fingertips rub the edge of frills that frame his hips. Louis’ thinks he knows the pair, he has seen them poking out of a set of draws teasing him a few times from Harry’s bedroom.

“Did you put these on for me?” Louis teases. He knows his voice sounds affected.

Harry nods quickly, and hides his head into the crook of Louis’ neck and shoulder like a shy kitten. He rubs his supple lips over Louis’ bare neck and whimpers, “Yeah.”

He could stand there all day admiring him and worshipping the ground Harry walks on and every pale inch of his skin, but they both know where this ends. Louis makes a quick decision to grab hold of him and take this to the bedroom. He uses one hand to grab hold of the back of Harry’s thighs, that are still wrapped around him, and uses the other to hold onto his waist. He can feel the bare skin of where Harry’s cheeks are barely covered by lacy frilled material or the silky soft fabric of his stockings. His fingers hold the flesh, probably leaving marks, as he hoists him up and out of the kitchen.

Harry continues to nose at the side of Louis’ neck until he leans up and reattaches their lips. They kiss, with a pace that rivals what they set before, as they tug each other toward Harry’s bedroom.

Louis shoves the door open and tosses Harry onto his freshly made sheets. He falls into the pale light and soft surrounds, melting into it and blending in with the colours. His dark long hair contrasts against the white as it fans out against the pillows. It halos around his head and Louis tries to not show the effect it has on him. Something so tiny, but powerful.

He stands at the bed, his knees brushing the edge of the frame and drinks him in. Harry must feel it, he preens under the attention and stretches his legs. His toes curl against the white, hidden in their pale pink and Harry reaches down to flatten his skirt where it has fallen in a skewed fashion. He folds it so the pleats fall into place. The purple sits pretty.

“Harry,” Louis breathes. “Baby.” He reaches to place hands against his softly covered knees, he tugs them apart and toward him. Harry’s hips scoot along the sheets so they are closer to Louis. Harry must know Louis can see he is hard, because despite his cock being hidden under his clothing the fabric is merely flimsy and those tiny panties do nothing to keep him modest. It isn’t like Louis’ is doing much better himself in his tight jeans

Harry visibly holds his breath as Louis leans down, getting on his knees next to the edge of the bed, and starts kissing up his thighs. He rubs his whole face into and he can feel Harry’s whole body seize up with pleasure. He pecks against the soft sheer fabric, he kisses on the tops and the sides, he moves up and up and up until he meets skin and has to push the pretty skirt up so it folds over. Harry moves his hand to clutch at his forearm and takes one leg and hooks it over Louis’ shoulder. He loves the feeling of his scruffy face meeting his untouched skin. It prickles and teases. He hopes it leaves a reminder for the morning.

He can’t stop the tiny little, “Please,” that escapes from his throat. Louis’ kisses the innermost part of his thighs, bare and pale where they meet the edges of muted pink lace. He smells heavenly, a musky mix of pleasure, heat and the soft remains of fruity perfume. He smells like Harry, and like Louis wants to consume every inch of him whole. He licks and kisses until he bites and sucks, leaving a trail of marks in his wake. Harry tries his best to remain still but his hand clutches his shoulder and the other grips the sheets, his knuckles turning white as Louis kisses along the edge of his panty line. He dips his tongue out to lick at the tip of his cock, where it lays heavy and hard against his thigh.

The air rushes out of his lungs and Louis can feel him tremble beneath the grip he has on his knees. He teases him relentlessly before he moves his palms up to hook his thumbs over the waistband and slide the undergarments down. Harry’s leg falls from where it was hitched up and Louis flips him over onto his stomach with the flick of a wrist. As he fumbles with the panties, Harry whines a little, “Quick,” under his breath and helps him out by unclipping the straps that connect them to his thigh highs. They slide down his legs and get caught around his ankles, Louis shoves him back into the sheets and rises up to press his mouth against his cheeks. He kisses down the curve of Harry’s arse, tasting the fresh and sweetly soft skin, until he meets his rim.

He licks at him the way he knows he likes, quick flicks with the occasional long drag of his tongue. Louis holds his hips tight with his fingers spread wide against the fleshy parts of his hips covered by soft cotton that looks and smells like lavender. If Harry moves his hips too much the skirt falls down against Louis forehead and fringe, tickling his head and constantly reminding him of the way Harry has dressed himself. All for him, a special gift that he has earnt.

He licks him wet until Harry practically melts into his touch and tongue. He is relentless the exact way he know Harry adores, because he has recounted it over and over again into the shell of Louis’ ear in the dark of the night like the tease he is. His thighs shudder and clench and every few seconds Harry purrs and whimpers like a kitten, and Louis wonders if he has ever been this hard and confined in a pair of tights jeans.

Louis’ rims Harry until he has broken him down into a sobbing mess. He makes sure that his scruffy face roughs him up, turning his cheeks just as pink as the stockings that cover his thighs, and so he has a soft happy smile on his face when he rolls him over. Harry has wild damp eyes and a satisfied grin with rosy cheeks. It is the tell tale sign to Louis’ that Harry is enjoying this more than anything. Louis’ can’t look in a mirror at himself, but he knows he must look similar. And just as gone.

Harry tugs his tight little white shirt over his head and pouts that he isn’t being touched anymore. Louis rids himself of his own clothing and makes sure, with a hand on Harry’s wrist, that he keeps the skirt and stockings on. Harry definitely shows no issue with that idea. He sinks delicately into Louis’ touch and against the sheets. Now naked, Louis climbs onto the bed and on top of him.

They are pressed together from head to toe, skin on skin, and connected by every touch. The soft fabrics Harry wearings slide between them as they kiss, again and again and again. His soft clad feet tickle against Louis’ back and calves. In the frantic movements the tiny pair of lace panties caught around Harry’s ankles are freed. They slip off the side of the bed and onto the floor. He is too busy getting caught up in grinding against Louis’ thigh and trying desperately to get them both off.

They both almost fall for it, into the heat and desire off a quick release and burst of pleasure. But instead Harry fights it, as Louis clutches his hair and kisses him with deep tongue and frantic breaths he thinks of what he wants. And how.

This is supposed to be just as much for him as it is for Louis. He claws at his forearms, leaving little red marks and begs to Louis with a pant, “Let me ride you. Please.”

He doesn’t have to ask. And Louis doesn’t have to think of his answer.

“Yeah,” he says, breaking their kiss and nodding frantically. His hands scramble for purchase, grabbing Harry’s hip and palming him under his skirt. Harry groans into his mouth and against his cheek. “Yeah,” Louis repeats. “Fuck. I’d love that.”

Harry nods his little head with the sweetest little sound, his arms wrapping around Louis neck and trying to pull him in. Louis might be in a lust induced state but he still manages to coherently remember they will need lube for this. His hand blindly tries to scramble around the bedside table and top drawers, he knocks over a few bottles of nail polish but finds what he is looking for eventually much to Harry’s pleasure.

He kisses against his shoulder as he moves his hand down between them, Harry lays back against the sheets and presses his hips up and wide. He tries to let him breath but Harry has other ideas and tugs his fingers forward. “Please,” he pants. “Hurry.”

“You’re so eager for this,” Louis replies with a moan. He moves his wet fingers toward where Harry wants them, he palms gently, spreading the lube around, before giving in.

“I’ve been waiting weeks,” Harry replies, breathless, and with a little hitch at the end of the sentence that Louis’ causes as he pushes one finger in him. The word weeks coming out all high and breathy. He pushes his hips against Louis’ and arches his back just a little.

Louis’ twists his single finger and thrusts it just a little, trying not to edge Harry on but keep him under control. He gives him a hard look and Harry tries to stall his movements and submit into his arms. When he does, Louis starts to curl his finger to the side and properly fuck him with it. He does it until he moans, shamelessly and with full eye contact to tempt Louis.

He is so hard, Louis feels so on edge and any relief he gave himself moments before when he rid himself of his pants has subsided. He adds another finger and Harry pants into his neck with a wet open mouth. He is so tight, and Louis does everything in his power to take him right to the edge. He has all the intent of satisfying him just without letting him actually get off properly right now. With every thrust and curl of his two fingers he aims at his prostate so Harry gasps and clenches down beautifully.

He wants to let him come. But he also wants to deny it.

He adds another finger and Harry keeps whispering words of thanks in his ear. Louis tells him over and over again how absolutely amazing and gorgeous he looks right now. He falls apart with ease so wonderfully for him every time, begging for release.

“I’m ready,” he pants.

Louis shakes his head and adds another slicked finger next to the other two. He fucks them until his wrist hurts and Harry has lefts teeth marks against the pane of his shoulder. His body shudders and jolts as he desperately cries and begs. “Please,” Harry moans.

Louis tries to shush him as he drives them in again and again. The soft fabric of his skirt brushing against his arm and Harry’s smooth legs wrapped around his waist. “Let me come. Please,” he sobs.

He doesn’t really want to come. Louis knows that.

He shakes his head. “No. You’re doing so good darling,” Louis compliments, kissing him again and then suddenly pulling out. Harry thighs tremble and his bottom lip wobbles. He tries to calm him down by rubbing circles into his arms and legs, kissing his cheeks and fixing his skirt from where is has skewed. He looks so beautifully bad. He kisses him again because he can’t resists those lips and those eyes.

Louis tugs at him so he rolls over, off his back and into Louis’ lap. Harry is lethargic and a little bit more than love drunk, he moulds into Louis easily as he lies back and lets him sit pretty, with soft palms at his hips. They rest easily in their favourite spot, where the band of his skirt fails to cover his cute little hips. He wishes he could lie here and stare at this view forever, Harry hovering above him with this angelic little smile, he’d die happy.

Harry is a slow heavy sort of frantic as he whispers, “Please,” and props himself up with his hands against Louis’ chest. Louis only replies with a look of knowing, a look that conveys to Harry that he knows what to do to get what he wants. But he also loves him dearly, as evident in the soft way he says, “Come on baby. Thought you wanted to show off?”

He preens and Louis tightens the grip he has on his hips, tugging him forward and lifting him up just a little easily with his strength. “You’re gorgeous, you know that right, princess?”

“Love you,” Harry replies, sparkling eyes and so so quiet and tender. He uses his own hand, and his own wobbling knees to position himself right. Louis is so hard, hot and leaking between their legs. Harry is in the same situation, just hidden from view if he sits correctly. “I need you,” he says again.

Harry lets Louis’ cock drag against his rim, spreading against the lube in his hand and against him. He waits to do little else other than push himself against it and down onto Louis in one swift fluid motion. He sinks slowly, giving them both a rush of shock pleasure and a little pain. Harry cracks out a moan and Louis reaches to thread their fingers together against him suddenly. They both love that feeling.

Their eyes lock and Louis, using his free hand, adjusts Harry’s beautiful skirt so it sits pretty and elegant against them and their thighs. Harry blushes and gives him one of his favourite soft smiles as a thank you, but the reality is that its Louis’ pleasure to do so.

It sparks something inside Louis to look at him, sitting here beautifully on his cock and flushing red with need but so innocently tender. If you didn’t know better, you would think he was merely sitting in Louis’ lap. Not adjusting to his width and stretch and trying not to hitch or swerve his hips back and forth. He looks like he was made for this.

“Can I move?” Harry asks. “Please.”

He doesn’t need to ask. But that is Harry, always so soft and submissive to Louis’ hold.

“You look so naughty like this,” Louis replies instead, gripping him harder, he himself arching his hips off the bed and into Harry. “So beautiful like this.”

Harry tries his best to stay still as Louis fucks up into him with a few gentle motions. He is only teasing though, exerting his control and getting a trip off it. That is his dominant streak he can’t help but indulge. He waits until Harry looks like he is about to beg before he says, “Okay princess.”

He can’t help the way he leaves imprints of fingers against his skin for him to discover tomorrow. Harry sighs with relief, reaching to try and tangle their fingers together again. He wants to hold him close, and he wants to show off. He has that look in his eyes as he tries to flip his hair off his face and back over his shoulder, the brown curls tumbling against the nape of his neck. They cascade against the marks Louis left.

“Thank you,” he mumbles as he tries to roll his hips and find a rhythm to ride him. Louis’ knows he is a natural at this, even in a skirt and these buttery soft stockings that cut off at his knees he does it like nothing else. Harry rises up on his knees and drops down just a little, rocking back and forth and pumping Louis’ cock into him. Louis own mouth drops open, the back of his head hitting the pillows. “Thank you, thank you. I love you,” Harry mumbles. “So hot.”

He is stuck on a loop of spitting praise and thanks. Louis’ thinks and knows he should be the one thanking him for this show. “God, you’re perfect,” he sighs, tugging him a little forward again. He fucks his hips up to meet him halfway, knowing exactly where he should hit. They have only been dating a little while, but they do this enough that he knows.

Harry practically screams and Louis knows he has got it right. He thrusts up against his prostate rhythmically and Harry moves against him. Up and down, and up and down. “So perfect,” he sighs again watching him and trying to make him blush. He knows how Harry loves it. “I love you so much, love your perfect little arse. Love your body.”

“Please,” Harry whines again. He doesn’t know what he is even begging for now. It could be anything or everything.

“I love you riding me like this, so gorgeous princess. Love seeing you bounce on my cock,” he smirks. It is true. He loves nothing more than letting him ride him, and he knows Harry feels the same way.

Louis is close, relentlessly teased by Harry’s hot tight heat and feeling continually like he is about to let go and come all inside him in a flash. He can see how hard Harry is from where his precome has leaked against the fabric of his skirt. He wants desperately to reach out and touch it. But Harry hasn’t, the only friction he must be getting is from the cotton rubbing against him. It must be painful.

He removes his hands from his hips and slides them under his pretty skirt, they brush against the soft fabrics and Harry whines softly. Louis settles them against the fleshy back of his thighs and the softness of his plump arse. Harry repeatedly drops down into his lap, and arches his back moving into Louis’ touch. The room is filled with the sounds of skin on skin and quiet murmurings of praise and pleasure as Harry rides him.

They are both flushed red. Harry’s cheeks a soft rosy colour and his lips cherry. Every time he bounces and grinds against Louis’ cock inside him his hair sways with the motion and the pleats of his skirt crumple over Louis’ hands. “Yeah baby, keep going,” Louis praises. “Make me come.”

As much as Louis wants this to last Harry keeps clenching down on him and making these pretty little sounds. He is so so tight and he tells him just as much, and he is so impossible to resist. Harry feeds on the thought of pleasing him. The thought of making Louis come is what makes him work harder, work his thighs harder and arch his back. He fucks himself down until it hurts and his forehead is damp and his muscles ache. He doesn’t think of those things, he thinks of Louis coming and how hard and desperate he is himself.

He strains every part of himself so Louis gets what he wants. He knows he will do the same for him. He falls against his chest, his arms barely holding him up and Louis’ finger digging into his arse, tugging him forward and getting himself off. He drives into him, using him and playing him like a game. He comes with Harry moaning pretty words into the shell of his ear and clenching down against him, hot, hard and heavy stretching him impossibly wide and hidden under this pretty piece of fabric. Harry instantly feels sticky from it.

Harry has never felt so impossibly indestructible. He ruts up against Louis’ desperately trying to get friction and get himself off, he should know better. He feels Louis fill him, wet and sticky and Harry pleads him to not pull out just yet. It takes a few moments for him to come back around and realise that Harry is desperately trying to come, with wet eyes and wild moans.

Louis’ reaches down to try and tug him off but Harry stops him. “No,” he whimpers. “Please.”

“Come on darling,” Louis says. He knows what Harry wants. “Are you going to come for me baby? Come princess, you’re so wet. Can you feel it? So pretty for me.”

Harry ruts against him, rubbing himself off against Louis’ chest and finally coming in thick sticky wet ropes against the lavender fabric of his skirt that has bunched itself around them. The wetness soaks into the cotton. It should feel disgusting. But he loves it. They both moan into it.

Louis wonders if they move it will break the spell. The moment seems impossibly perfect. He is warm and feels so love drunk, he stares up into Harry’s eyes and tightens his hold around him. His fingers gently rub circles and he tries to soothe the hot skin. “Love you,” he whispers.

Harry’s eyes crinkle and he moves to softly rub their faces together. He brushes his cheek against Louis’ own and eventually pecks at his pouting lips. Harry’s hair tickles Louis’ nose.

He eventually rolls them over, much to Harry’s quiet little displeasures. He holds him tight like he is demanded to until the dust settles or at least Harry gets feeling back in his legs and they catch their breaths.

It is somewhere then, in the bridge between the hottest sex of his life with the boy he loves and their disgusting cuddle session that he says, full of honesty, “I meant it. You’re amazing. I mean every word I say, you are literally the hottest person-”

“Stop,” Harry blushes, their faces so close under the sheets he feels his breath.

  
“No,” Louis replies. “I mean it. And I’ll tell you every day. I love you, every part of you I adore.”


End file.
